


breathe in, breathe out

by dinomight



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Gen, How Do I Tag, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Not a whole lot of plot, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, brief flashback/dissociation, sharing a bed but now platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinomight/pseuds/dinomight
Summary: His palm is covered in ash.It all drifts away slowly, floating on the slight breeze. He tries to watch it, but it disappears from his sight, his hands left bare and clean like nothing happened.(what are you waiting for?)(Or: Caleb has a moment, and then he and Beau Talk.)





	breathe in, breathe out

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for a relatively brief flashback/dissociative episode and kinda implied verbal abuse. Basically: Ikithon. (Please note that I am not an expert on either of these things--while I did some research into PTSD, the scene is mostly based on Matt's descriptions and the way Liam acts during those scenes.)  
> Title from "Human" by Of Monsters and Men

His palm is covered in ash.

  
It all drifts away slowly, floating on the slight breeze. He tries to watch it, but it disappears from his sight, his hands left bare and clean like nothing happened.

  
( _what are you waiting for?_ )

  
His mind is trapped between two places. There is now, with its crisp morning air and out of focus trees, and there is then, with its night sky and soft grass under his knees. Both carry the crackle of flames, the scent of something on fire. He doesn’t know which one is real, if either of them even are.

  
( _you know what you must do_ )

  
Someone is screaming. Their voice echoes from the house, rings out in the air beside him. He doesn’t feel anything.

  
( _they are traitors_ )

  
Does it matter who it is? Does it matter who he is?

  
( _we all must make sacrifices for the Empire_ )

  
There is a hand on his shoulder. It is strong and firm, and it tries to anchor him here in the night. There is a hand clutching at his bicep. It is small and clawed and desperate to keep him too, but he is empty, hollowed out. He floats, drifting along like ash in the wind, burnt out and no longer tethered to this world.

  
( _you disappoint me, Caleb_ )

  
He is distantly aware of arms wrapping around him, picking him up off the ground. It takes effort, but he looks up, watches the person carrying him. _Their hair is long and black with silver roots_ —with white tips— _their face is carved into a frustrated scowl_ —her brows are knotted together— _their black eyes shine with fury_ —her eyes, one bright blue and the other deep purple, meet his, and they are filled with concern, the most he’s ever seen in her. She says something but he cannot hear her, only feels as someone else runs their hands gently through his hair, big, soft fingers brushing against his scalp.

  
He closes his eyes and lets the sensation carry him away.

 

* * *

 

When Caleb wakes, his surroundings have changed. For one, he is no longer caught between reality and memory; his mind has grounded itself once more. The room is quiet and dark, the air no longer filled with the scent of smoke and the crackling of flames. A gentle nighttime breeze blows through the cracked window.

  
Something shifts beside him, a warm but small form. Nott has curled herself into his side, her usual outerwear and boots removed in favor of her simple tunic and leggings. She is fast asleep, but even unconscious, she rubs her ears against his ribs and tries to snuggle in closer. Carefully, Caleb raises his hand to her head, softly stroking her hair with a slight smile.

  
Looking around the rest of the room, he almost thinks it’s empty besides the two of them, until he sees a flash of blue and his eyes focus on Beau. She’s sitting cross legged on the floor, back to an unlit fireplace and not far from the bed he is laying on. Her arms are wrapped around herself, as if to ward off the cold, but her expression is that of one lost deeply in thought—not one he sees on Beau very often, if he’s honest. A minute or so passes before she notices him staring at her and jumps.

  
“Wha—hey,” she says, her voice low and rough as though she hasn’t spoken in awhile. “Welcome back to the world of the living, asshole.”

  
A million questions run through Caleb’s head _—what happened, where are they, did they finish the job_ —but all that comes out is a soft “why?” as he gestures his head towards the fireplace. Beau is clearly cold, so he does not understand why she left an easy source of warmth unused.

  
She glances from him to the brick behind her before the realization of what he means hits. “Oh. Nott, she thought—she said that we should leave it like that. Just in case. We didn’t want to—“ she pauses, her brows furrowed, before settling for some strange hand gesture at him “—you again.”

  
_Oh_. That is...sweet, he thinks. He does not know how to explain to Beau that it’s not just fire, but the combination of it and flesh and _death_ that messes with his mind. He opens his mouth to tell her, to try and explain so she doesn’t have to be cold anymore, but she interrupts him before he even has the chance.

  
“That was bad, Caleb. Even for you.” He flinches at her blunt words, but what else could he have expected? Beau has never been one to beat around the bush, even with his...sensitive past.

  
“ _Bitte verzeih mir._ I’m sorry.” He turns his head towards the ceiling, finding and fixing on a small crack in one of the wooden beams. “I did not mean to get, hm, pulled away like that, during a fight.”

  
“What?” Beau exclaims, causing him to look back at her. She holds a hand to her mouth, as though she’s as surprised as he is at her volume. They both stay quiet for a moment, watching Nott, but when the goblin girl continues to snore Beau keeps going. “That’s not what I meant, Caleb. I know it’s not your fault. It’s just—your whole thing with fire. I get it.  But it’s never been as bad as it was this time. Nott was trying to get you away, and it was like you didn’t even know who she was. I was— _we_ were all worried. It was just scary, I guess.”

  
“Oh.” Caleb studies her for a moment as he contemplates. Tough, blunt, ask questions later Beau—worried about him. He can see the sincerity on her face even in the dark, but he does not know what he did to deserve such concern. There is no response for her now but the truth, he supposes. “It comes and goes. Some days it isn’t a problem, and some days it is, _ja_?”

  
“Right. Well. If you, uh, need to talk about it or anything,” she fiddles with her bloodied monk vestiges, avoiding eye contact, “you know. I’m here. I can’t promise to be able to help, or even really get it, but I’ll listen.”

  
When he first told Beau about his past, Caleb didn’t really know what to expect from her reaction. Disgust, for sure. Hatred, perhaps. Possibly blackmail. He knows, though, that he was not expecting anything like this—maybe from Nott, who for some reason holds a blind affection for him, but not Beau. He does not know what to do, how to reciprocate this.

  
“Thank you, Beauregard,” Caleb says carefully after his deliberation.

  
She nods and hastily changes subjects, no more comfortable with emotional talks than he is. “Yeah, well, you should get some more sleep. We’re going in the morning to collect our payment.”

  
“Where will you sleep?” Caleb frowns. There is no other bed in the room, and judging by his strangely accurate internal clock, it is too late in the night for anyone else to be awake.

  
“I’ve heard the floor is a comfortable spot,” Beau grumbles and starts moving to lay down. “The inn was pretty full. We could only get a couple rooms, so it’s the floor either way. Not like it’d be the first time.”

  
He considers this, but then he notices the size of the bed he and Nott are in. It’s large, likely meant for a couple. And, well. If Beau is willing to show him such kindness and care, perhaps he should return the favor.

  
“Wait.” Beau stops, looking over her shoulder at him. “This bed is, hm, large enough for the three of us, _ja_?”

  
She narrows her eyes at him dangerously, and Caleb feels his fight or flight response flare up. “You better be joking, Widogast, or I swear to fucking Pelor I will—“

  
“ _Scheisse_ , not like that. I am not—I am not interested in that. I just don’t see the point in you sleeping on the floor when there is room in this bed.”

  
Beau still has a suspicious glint in her eyes, but the immediate danger seems to have passed. “Fine. I guess that would be better.” She picks herself up off the floor, shedding her vest before crawling over Caleb with all the grace of a hunkering orc and settling down on the other side of the bed. The movement stirs Nott a bit, but eventually she shakes her head and goes back to sleep.

  
There is a careful distance still between the two, and the quiet, besides Nott’s soft snores, is awkward, until Beau abruptly says something.

  
“If you even think about cuddling, I will break all your fingers.”

  
“I will keep my hands to myself.”

 

“Good.”

  
He will not deny that it’s still weird, but after a few minutes the awkwardness fades away and Beau’s breathing begins to even out. Before she can fall asleep entirely, he whispers, “Good night, Beauregard.”  
“...good night, Caleb.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my second time writing something for this fandom and my first time posting it here, so hopefully you enjoyed. Kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! Constructive criticism also welcome, just like. Don't be an asshole about it please, lmao.  
> You can find me on Tumblr @xhorass, my sideblog dedicated to Critical Role and all these chaotic dumbasses!


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